


steady is the hand that's come to terms

by blue_flowers



Series: in the heart of it [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, OC character dies, Parental Kidnapping, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 21:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_flowers/pseuds/blue_flowers
Summary: It is time to go Damian. I have been patient with you but no more.It's time to leave, and Damian isn't sure what's going to happen now. He never told his family that Talia expects him to leave with her, but they won't even notice or care, he's sure.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & His Siblings, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: in the heart of it [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966672
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	steady is the hand that's come to terms

**_It is time to go Damian. I have been patient with you but no more._ **

Damian stood in his room, staring at the text for what felt like hours. Every breath he took felt like it wasn't enough to fill his lungs. The panic began setting in. He knew he should be leaving, but it was so hard to make his legs listen. Mother wouldn't wait forever. If she were to come to the manor, this would be much more difficult. There would be confusion and shouting, possibly even tears, from the family. No, this was easier. It was better for him to slip out undetected. Not a soul would notice he’d left them behind. If they did, they would resume their normal lives soon enough. There would be no final stand, no glorious battle, and no pleasing to a merciless world. He would be gone with the night like a hazily remembered dream. He took one last shaky breath, sent his last text, and grabbed his things, Titus on his heel

The Great Dane whined as Damian ushered him out of the bedroom and into Baba’s study. He would be found and let out sooner, with no questions asked. Damian had been "forgetting" Titus in there for two weeks now. It would be seen as just another slip up from a tired child or perhaps the result of a sibling becoming annoyed with the animal. Nothing to be suspicious about. 

Something changed when he pulled the door closed. Time began slipping away from him. He did not remember going down to the Batcave but the next thing he knew he's on the R-Cycle, driving down the tunnel into Gotham proper.

Mother stood at the edge of the Batburger parking lot. Pressing the autopilot on the R-Cycle, he watched it drive off, and tried not to wish he was still on it. He planted himself stock still before her, waiting for her inspection. It had been two years, but he remembered the process. He was to stand in front of her, back straight, feet shoulder length apart, arms crossed behind him, his gaze straight ahead. Previously, he would give a report of his actions, but it had been two years. Did she expect him to recount the last two years, or just the last month since he had agreed to go back with her? He waited for some kind of instruction, but she continued to look him over, circling like a vulture. He stood like that for a few minutes more before she finally spoke. 

"Your Grandfather has missed you very much. We best not keep him waiting." Panic immediately clouded Damian's vision, he felt his throat closing around his response. He wasn't sure he ever did respond because his next bit of awareness, him and Mother were on a plane over the ocean. Mother was sitting relaxed, tapping away at her phone. Damian felt a sudden longing for his own, to text Baba, Tim, Richard, _anyone_ , to come get him. But Baba would be upset that he left, and now he had more attention to put toward helping Alexi get used to being human and then he could train him as the new Robin, to helping Jason and Tim with their past demons; staying would be for the best….

Damian was hyper-aware for the rest of the flight, every second felt like torture, pulling him away from home and toward his biggest fear. It was three am when they landed. Damian hoped to avoid a meeting with Grandfather, but that was quashed as they disembarked when Mother told him Grandfather was waiting. He nodded and followed her into the compound, trying in vain to calm his breathing. Grandfather wasn't as forgiving as Mother, and blanking during the conversation with him would be very, very bad. 

A detached sense of calm settled in him as he stepped into the room Ra’s al Ghul occupied. He knows this; knew the routine to keep him safe and the mask to keep him alive. Under different circumstances, he might have pondered how different this mask was from the one he wore back home, but as it was, his consciousness had planted itself firmly outside his body. It was only the Heir left. 

Fire lapped at the shadows cast on polished stone walls like dogs eagerly drinking from a troth. The man at the far end of the hall took meditative breaths in time with the rise and fall of flaming tides. "So…” the syllable passed his lips like the hissing of a viper. His face was shaded by sharp angles in the dim light, each wrinkle of his ancient skin cutting deep enough for a tributary. There was no discoloration or scaring to mar that face carved from the desert’s limestone and colored by the dusty horizon. It would have been like looking at a portrait painted by a single colour if not for the sinking shadows cast by his long lashes. Damian knew it was an illusion. His grandfather was anything but the fragile paper doll he masqueraded as. He was a spider awaiting some helpless insect to stumble into his web. Once they realized what was happening, they would already best be counted as dead. “My exalted grandson finally returns home." Those heavy eyes that had seen so many centuries opened to reveal their unnatural intensity. Fresh from the waters of the Pit, they glowed with the passion of a hundred damned souls. Those eyes had seen many wonders of the world, the ambition and perseverance of their people, and the rise and fall of civilization. And now they fixed on the one destined to inherit this new empire. Damian felt his insides twist listening to him talk about Damian's absence, his Baba, his siblings, and his failures. He spends a lot of time on Damian's supposed failures before deciding to be "merciful" and give Damian a chance to redeem himself for the lives he’d spared.

"What must I do, Grandfather?" The words feel like ash in his mouth. Whatever Damian is to do, it would not be pleasant. Not for Damian, and especially not for his target. But he remembers this ritual, remembers how at one point he was so desperate to be where he is now, to be his Grandfather's weapon. 

The answering grin is grotesque, and Damian's heart plummets. He's going to know this person, he's going to watch the life drain from someone he called a friend, maybe even family. "Brad Wayne, the _elder_ son." He can see his Grandfather's mouth moving, but the banging, screaming terror in his head has deafened him. He doesn't blank again, but he is on a numbing autopilot as he ends the encounter.

Feeling returns to him once he is in a room, locked in by Mother. He wishes he would stay numb forever, it would make life easier. Make it easier to do either of the two options he sees before him. 

He could either end it all now, have his last defiant stand in this room, let them find his cooling body in the morning. But that solution came with its own problems. What if they sent someone else after Brad? What if they threw him into the pit? No, it left too many variables. 

Or he could get an anonymous warning to Baba and then give his family no choice but to take him out.

Damian flinched, he didn't- this wasn't-

He took a deep breath and forced his personal feelings and fears into a deep, dark cave in his mind. It wasn't his favorite plan, Damian abhorred it; despised the thought of forcing a member of his family to end him. The Heir though, the Heir knew it was the only viable plan. They only had to last a few more days, Damian could rest now, the Heir would rest when it was all over.

The Heir tried meditating, and when that failed due to Damian fretting about how everything could go wrong, he began to plan. Every plan had a back up, and those back ups had multiple back ups in order to soothe Damian's frantic fears. The Heir knew where he was coming from, he shared those fears as well, but he was ready for whatever came. He would put up a good show, he would do his best not to damage Damian's family too badly, but he had to give them enough cause that the only way to stop him would be to end him.

_‘And what if they're still unwilling?’_

_‘Then I'll make it look like they ended us.’_

They were quiet after that, Damian quieting fully after an hour. The Heir continued to plan before eventually exhausting that avenue of thought. He sat in silence, enjoying his last moment of quiet. While not quite at peace with his future, he was willing to accept it as his fate. 

He dug into the luggage, looking for the Batman figure he had hidden. It was the ugly one that had shipped with the Batnipple-O's cereal, but it gave him some comfort. He held it up to the window, having a fleeting thought of Batman crashing through it and stealing him away, but crushed the dream immediately. Dreaming was for Damian, the Heir had to be practical. Sighing, the Heir fell back onto the bed, Batman doll still clutched tightly in his hand. He laid there, he didn't know how long, long past when the sun began to light up the room. 

He heard the household begin to wake, but he was still locked in the room, so he waited diligently for someone to collect him. 

A knock came at the door, Mother entering before he could voice a greeting. Three servants followed her, two standing either side of the door. The Heir rolled to his feet, silently slipping the Batman doll into a pocket. Snapping her fingers, the third servant walked forward, presenting him with a stack of clothing. Robotically, he accepted the clothing, allowing the servant to step back behind Mother. 

“Leave us.” bowing, the servant left. Mother closed the small distance between them, placing a hand on his cheek. “My Heart, we did not have time to talk yesterday.” the Heir nodded, a lump in his throat. 

_Damian watched his mother pack his bags, worry chewing at his lip. “Mother...what-what if he rejects me? He has other sons.” Mother sighed, she did not like his insecurities being aired but he was to be without her soon, he looked down, ashamed. A hand lifted his face to meet her gaze._

_“My Heart,_ you _are your father’s true son, his blood heir. He will accept you, I swear that to you. But never fret, my darling, I am always with you, and you always with me. There is nothing that will ever keep us apart. I will always find my way to you.” A soft smile graced his lips as he leaned into her touch._

The Heir swallowed. She would always find him, he knew what the path to freedom was now.

“--met in Gotham, it was only for a meal, but it was pleasant to be able to see you then my darling.” he startled, suddenly aware of Mother still talking. “You were always mine Damian, you _are_ always mine.” she smiled that smile that used to make him feel safe. He nodded, he understood. 

“Yes, Mother.” She nodded and stepped out of the room, leaving him to change. Once back in the attire of the League, he slipped the Batman doll into one of the many folds meant to hide weapons. Stepping out of the room, he nodded to Mother who gestured for him to follow, turning on her heel with the expectation that she would be followed. The two servants brought up the rear as they made their way to what he recognized as the armory. His feet took a path he had thought forgotten, bringing him to his old storage box. Opening it, he found his blades still there. 

_Damian looked up at his Mother, gaze on the box she carried. He sat on his bed, swinging his feet as she drew closer. Mother smiled at him. “My little Heart, your Grandfather has decided it is time to start your live weapons training. He has gifted these to you.” Damian looked hungrily into the box as Mother opened it. Two blades, the handles larger than his little hands, were lifted out and handed to him. They were awkward to hold, but he held them reverently. “These will be your greatest extensions of yourself. They will make you sharp, make you great.” Damian smiled, ready to try them out._

He didn’t want to touch them.

With a steady breath, he picks them up. He’ll need them, if he’s to make this work. He starts practicing his motions, chastising himself everytime he slipped into a non lethal move. He notes when Mother leaves, leaving the guards with him. He growls, considering throwing something sharp at them. He didn’t want them watching him, it would make it harder to put his plan into action. If he had a constant guard, getting an anonymous message to Father to keep Brad safe would be very difficult, but it wouldn’t be impossible. He could...he could use a few choice words, words he knew Kent kept an ear out for. He would warn Father, he was part of the Justice League, he would have to act, wouldn’t he? Once Father was warned, the Heir would have to put on a very, _very_ good show for Mother and Grandfather. 

The end was going to be the hardest to pull off. Reports of his demise, that Father had...had ended him, would have to reach Mother, but she couldn’t be allowed to collect his body. She would possibly throw him into the lazarus pit, and then he would be back at square one, with pit madness on top of everything. 

The glint of his reflection caught his eye. The blades had been cleaned recently, likely in preparation for his arrival ‘home’. He watched himself, watched his face refuse to move, to show his turmoil, and was pleased. Everything hinged on him not showing a wit of what he was really feeling, of his true plan. 

If Father was unwilling to end him, the Heir would take his blades, and slice himself until he stopped moving.

He would have to fight dirty, make Father hit him, hurt him. He would need bruises, need them to believe he just _couldn’t_ win against Batman. He swallowed down the toxic feeling of nausea. He would prefer a slow acting poison, but knew that he would never be allowed near anything like that. If he could postpone....but he knew it would be useless. They wanted his loyalty, they wouldn’t wait. 

He looked up suddenly at the sound of someone entering the room, expecting Mother, coming back to check on his progress. Nightwing strolled into the room, showing off a dangerously chipper smile. 

"Hey little D, man this place is big, I've been looking all over for you!" The Heir stood frozen, not sure if this was real or not. He still held the blades in his hands, looking at them, bile rose at the thought of using them against his family so soon. 

He felt the guards move, rushing past him to attack his brother.

The Heir stood frozen as Nightwing flipped over the guards, landing behind one and executing a nerve strike that left the guard crumpled on the floor. The second guard circled with Nightwing, each trying to be closer to the Heir than the other, striking out whenever they felt the other had crossed a line. He watched this dance, unmoving, still trying to make sense of why Nightwing was here and not in Gotham. 

The guard lunged suddenly at Nightwing, feinting around his counter strike, grabbing his arm and pulling him off balance. Nightwing tried to turn it into a roll but couldn't regain his feet quick enough. The guard had Nightwing on the ground in the next moment; he was standing over him, blade pointed at his neck.

He doesn't make a conscious effort to move, he just does, running at the guard and burying one blade in his back, the other in his neck. He pulls down on the second blade, opening the wound further. His scream of rage turns into a gargle as blood pours from his neck and over the Heir's hands. The guard is swinging his own blade toward him in a last attempt to fight back but his movements are slow and sluggish. The Heir dodges easily, slipping back behind him to wrench the blade out of his back, spinning back around and aims one blade at his ankles, the other at his belly--

Someone grabbed him from behind, iron grip around his wrists squeezing until he dropped his blades. He growled, fighting fiercely to be free from the overpowering hold. There is whispering in his ear, small sounds from a voice he recognizes. His struggle slowed but continued, still wanting to be free, to not be _touched._ A small gasp caught his attention. In front of him lies the guard, he had rolled onto his side and was clutching futility at the trickling wound on his neck. Their eyes met and he watched in satisfaction as life faded from them. This was one person that would never be harming his family again. He could hear Damian whispering about Father; he'd be upset, he wasn't supposed to kill anymore, killing was _wrong_. He reeled back as the dying man took his last breath, refusing to acknowledge the tears that were running down his cheeks. 

"Shh Dami, shh. It's okay, it's over." Nightwing whispered, turning the Heir around to face him. The Heir stared back, uncertain as to what was happening. Why was Nightwing here? "Damian, are you okay?" 

"Come on, we're going to go home."

Nightwing stood slowly, keeping both hands on the Heir's shoulders as if to steady him. The Heir watches him curiously. His face is smoothed into a falsetto calm that would fool most civilians, but looking into his eyes he can see the panic simmering there.

“I’ve got him, B," Nightwing barked into his comm. Grabbing a much smaller hand and now bloodied hand in his own, he led the Heir out of the room. They traversed the corridors quickly. Fighting could be heard in the distance. Nightwing led him away from the majority of the fighting, toward the roof. 

Damian’s heart soars when he sees the Batplane hovering next to the roof. Aunt Pamela stood guard over it, hair whipping around in the wind and skin breathing in the early morning sun. She smiled down at them. With a flick of her hand, vines scooped them up like baby birds being returned to the nest. He was brought straight to Aunt Pamela while Richard landed gracefully in the Batplane. When he came within reach, she pulled him into a tight embrace. 

“Oh, Damian, don’t scare us like that again,” she whispers into his hair. He takes a shaking, shuddering breath, nodding against her neck as she carries him into the plane. 

Richard took the controls from Jason, maneuvering the plane around the compound as they extracted everyone from various fights. Once free of the controls, Jason kneeled before him, pulling him out of Pam's embrace into their own. "Fucking hell, kid," they murmured, hugging him to their uninjured side. Tim jumped into the plane, rushing to Damian immediately. Jason released Damian so that Tim can reach him. Tim reaches into his pocket, pulling out Damian's phone. 

"Dami, why didn't you tell us?" Damian shrinks back, looking away. He doesn't know, he didn't-

Cass squeezed between the Heir and Timothy, sitting on his other side. She sent a glare at Timothy, who frowned but backs away, deciding to sit not far. Cass turned the Heir to face her, cupping his face in her hands. "Little brother." Her gaze was so intent he had to look away, worried she would realize this wasn't the brother she was looking for. "My brother." 

Damian leaned into her words, wanting to throw his worries away. He barely noticed Duke take a seat next to her, tired body collapsing against the wall. 

"Hey, Little D." Nodding in greeting, the plane was quiet except for the faint buzz of everyone's comm devices.

The Heir sat up in attention when Father entered the plane. He was wearing his cape and cowl as he jumped into the plane. His eyes locked on the Heir. He tore his cowl off as he reached him, covering his small hands in his own larger hands. He looks in horror at the blood covering them, running his hands up and down the Heir's arms, looking for injuries. 

"Damian. _Habibi_." He just stared ahead, not sure what was wanted from him. Should he say sorry? Try to explain?

"Brad!" he blurted out. "Is Brad safe?" Everyone startled at his question.

"Is Brad not safe?" Father asked, his thumbs beginning to rub soothing circles over the Heir's hands. 

"Grandfather wants me to kill him." Damian would flinch at his blunt tone, the Heir simply continued to report. "I was meant to show my loyalty. I didn't want to. I was going to make you stop me." He finally made eye contact. "I was going to make you stop me, or I was going to stop me." The Heir watched Father's face cycle through several emotions, settling on a grief stricken horror.

Noise erupted as Father pulled him from his seat into a crushing hug. Calls to find Brad, to get him _safe_ , nearly drowned out Father's mantra of " _Habibi,_ oh _, albi_ no.'' He struggled for a moment, panic stricken. What does he do, _he doesn't know what to do._

Baba kept murmuring as Damian stilled. Tears fell down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, _baba_ , I'm sorry." he whispered. "I wasn't going to hurt him, I swear I wasn't going to hurt him." 

" _Albi_ , I know, I know." he said, "I know you wouldn't. Just, _albi_ , don't say that, don't say that." Damian hated the fear in his voice, hated that he's the one who put it there. He didn’t know what to do to fix it.

Baba didn’t let him go even when he stood to go check on everyone. He brought Damian with him, arm around his shoulders. When he started listing to the side, Baba effortlessly scooped Damian into his arms. Damian made a noise of protest but quiets when he whispers "Shh, _habibi_. Go to sleep, I'll keep you safe." He mumbled a sleepy affirmation. 

\-------

He awoke as Baba moved into the elevator. It was crowded, everyone piled in and talking softly to each other. Cass and Tim were whispering to each other, Duke leaning against Richard, eyes closed. Aunt Pam and Jason were talking to Baba, but Damian couldn’t focus long enough to hear what about. 

Baba leaned down and murmured that Alfred had a change of clothes waiting for him. Damian mumbled an agreement. Once the elevator reached the main floor Baba took him into the first full bath, followed by Pennyworth. Together they cleaned the blood from Damian’s hands and arms. Damian stood there, shivering, as they helped him out of the clothes Mother had given him and into his pajamas. Baba kept making comforting noises at him, and when Damian was once more dressed, pulled him into another hug, whispering sweet nothings at him. 

He must have dozed off again because he was laid in a somewhat familiar bed. Opening his eyes he found it to be Baba's. Cass crawled in beside him, holding his hand as she got comfortable. Baba set something down on the bedside table before going into the bathroom. Damian stared at the Batman doll, wondering when he dropped it and why Baba had picked it up. He reached out and grabbed it, not knowing why but he needed to hold it. He was still staring at it when Baba came back into the room in his night clothes. 

Baba smiled at him as he sat on the bed. "Hey, darling, how are you feeling? Are you comfortable?" Damian wasn’t sure what to say, still not sure this is real. What if it was just a dream? He didn’t want to wake up and be back in that room. 

"Baba, am I awake?" Baba's face twisted, worry creasing his brow. His fingers began combing through Damian's hair, heavy and comforting. It felt real and Damian hoped it was.

"Yes, _habibi_ , you're home. You're safe, everyone is safe." Damian nodded. He felt his eyes growing heavy but he needed to do one more thing. Sitting up, he reached for Baba, wrapping his arms around him. His hands twitched at the feeling of blades in them; he shook as he looked over his Baba's shoulder to see he was holding only the Batman doll. Baba began shushing him as he laid them both down, Cass curling around his small body. 

He tucked his arms up between him and Baba, staring at them and wishing the feelings of the blades would go away.


End file.
